Never Last
by Listenerofshadows
Summary: All children, except one, grow up. Everyone knows at the end of the book, Wendy must leave and Peter Pan must be young, innocent…and heartless forever. But what if Peter changes the tale to keep Wendy from growing up? Meanwhile a bushy-browed Captain Hook seeks out revenge on Peter Pan for something more than a missing hand. If only he could remember, that is!


**Disclaimer: I like to thank both Himaruya and J.M Barrie for their respective creations as I do not own Hetalia nor Peter Pan.**

 **Warnings: This is a Peter Pan AU. Meaning Hetalia characters are in the roles that characters in Peter Pan typically portray. This does not mean that this is a carbon copy of the Disney movie with Hetalia characters slapped onto it. Hetalia characters may go by the name of their roles (Peter Pan, Captain Hook, Wendy, etc.) for the sake of plot. This story is heavily influenced by both the original novel and the Disney movie, so take what you will from that.**

 **Before I begin, I like to thank AnAppleofDiscord for being the beta-reader for this story in everything but in name. She's the one who encouraged me to get this far because honestly I probably wouldn't have gotten to this point without her. Please go check out her stories if you enjoy a father-son relationship between England and America. They're very well-written with the right blend of angsty and humor.**

 **Without further ado, please enjoy this story!**

* * *

 _"Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder. They are not really friendly to Peter, who had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side to-night, and anxious to get the grown-ups out of the way. So as soon as the door of 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out: 'Now, Peter!'" -J.M Barrie, Peter and Wendy_

* * *

All children grow up, the story goes. All children grow up except one. There is something tragic that is left behind when children shed their innocent shells to embrace the hardened adult ones. No one knew this better than the boy who never grew up.

The city-lights of old London seemed to grow dim when he was around. The stars glowed brighter in his presence, welcoming the boy in. After all, it wasn't every day the boy who never grew up came to visit them.

The adults of the world weren't sure what to call this strange phenomenon. Most ignored it entirely, saying it was just an unusually bright starry night. Then there were others, who insisted on seeing a shadow of the boy flying around. However, these occurrences were so few and far between, that there were never any connections made between them. Perhaps no adult bothered to look further into the strangeness of it. Or perhaps they simply lacked the imagination for it.

The boy who never ever grew up was perched on top of a building. He was confused. He knew the address better than anyone. Yet it seemed as if there was a lock that segregated him from that particular memory. He was concentrating hard on slipping through the cracks, but to no avail. The memory failed to reveal itself.

He visibly frowned, displeased with his findings. No one ever denied anything to the little boy. At least, no one ever denied anything to the little boy without receiving punishment. But it was rather difficult to punish yourself for not remembering something.

"What are you looking for, mon cher?" The sudden voice startled the boy, who moved into a defensive position.

He relaxed upon recognizing the small figure.

"Ah, hey Francis! I didn't see there."

"I said, why are you out here?" The fae fretted, "You've been gone for days in Neverland—practically hours in this world's time, and you know what the cold air does-"

"I know!" He snapped, his red eyes flashing a moment with anger. "But I'm trying to find Wendy."

"Oh, Peter, not this again," He sighed heavily, "You have to let her go."

"Francis, how could you say that?" The boy frowned, "Wendy promised me she would be my mother—she promised!"  
"But my boy," His voice grew soft, "Wendy is gone. Just like your other friends."  
"Wendy would never leave me," The boy scoffed, "She's not like the others. But Francis don't you understand? Wendy wants me, she called for me! The stars told me!"

"This isn't the first time stars claimed to have seen Wendy though."

"It's different this time!" Peter insisted, "I saw her in the dream forest earlier!"

"You have?!" The fae looked startled at the revelation.

"Yes I have!" The boy proudly puffed out his chest, "She is always a princess when she visits. Wendy likes to hold court—just like your people do—and she lets me visit her. Wendy told me that her parents left her, just like my parents did! She doesn't have any little brothers either—just a grouchy grown up one. Don't you see, Francis? She's like that princess stuck in a tower in the story she told about once! And I'm the hero that must rescue her from clutches of grown-ups!"

"Peter, you must be mistaken—"

"No I'm not!" He growled, "I'm never wrong, never!"

There was a brief period of silence. The fae nervously fluttered, awaiting the boy's next action. The child was unpredictable in his tantrums. Though Francis was powerful, even he hesitated to anger the boy.

The young boy's sides heaved as his tiny fists curled up. His little face was scrunched up like a prune, as he glared at Francis. He opened his mouth, widening it for a loud shout—when he paused.

The little boy deliberately considered his course of action. Francis wouldn't appreciate being yelled at, and he might drag him back to Neverland. That was something he couldn't allow to happen. He had his mind set on freeing Wendy tonight—and tonight it shall be.

"I know Wendy when I see her," The boy said carefully, "She has yellow hair, like the Indian's corn. Her eyes are green—like forest leaves. Wendy is kind to everyone, and she likes to tell stories. That is the Wendy I saw in the dream forest."

The fae knew that Peter's account could not be true. This was not the first time Peter described a girl that matched Wendy's description and Francis doubted it would be the last. Despite Peter's disbelief, Wendy had grown up and had children of her own. It was possible there were grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Wendy's running amuck. Humans lived and died quicker than the fair folk that Francis didn't bother at keeping up.

Francis looked at the boy, and saw that with ounce of his being he believed what he said. His pleading face said it all as he stared at the fae with bright, hopeful eyes.

It was true, the boy loved trickery. Any child snatched up by the fae learned to love the art of deception. But this was not one of those times. No, this was a time that Peter truly meant what he said. But just because Peter believed something to be true, didn't mean that it was true.

"Alright," Francis finally sighed, "I believe you are telling what you think is true."

"What I think is true?" The boy sneered, "No, what I know is true!"

He gave a loud whoop, doing a somersault in the air. Francis believed him, oh how joyful he was of that! That meant that Francis would help him accomplish Wendy's escape. The fae would be his sidekick, mind you. It was Peter who was the main star of the show. He would be the one who would overcome the hard task of rescuing Wendy.

"I'm curious, Peter," Francis said, cocking his head, "You've been to that house many times. Yet I find you blocks away from it. Have you…forgotten where it is?"

"Not willingly!" The little boy protested, "I know the address by heart—how could I not? But there must something—or someone purposefully blocking my memory. I can feel it existing in my mind, but it feels like it is being kept under lock and key."

"Is it alright if I—"

"Of course!" He said relieved, "I would very much like it if you had a look into it."

Francis closed his eyes, concentrating on the boy in front of him. He shifted through the boy's fragmented memories. Most of them were happy, with a golden tint to them. There was some that were consumed with angry and envy. Fewer still, were the ones that were full of melancholy. Still, he had seen no sign of distortion yet. He broadened the search. As a master of deception, he had a keen eye for seeking it out. He was going to make sure, that the little boy was left untouched.

While Francis was looking for clues, the boy impatiently fidgeted. He didn't have time to wait. Like Francis had mentioned earlier, they had to be gone before the sun rose. Already it was growing late. The little boy peered over the edge of the building. There were only a few of those strange horseless carriages on the streets. Fewer still, were any people wandering the sidewalks.

"I found it!" Francis triumphantly exclaimed, "You were right, Peter. There has been someone deliberately messing with the memory."

 _'_ _You were right, Peter.'_ Those words were the music to his ears. Of course he was right—the boy was always right! But to have someone actually acknowledge it, meant wonders to him.

"Can you fix it?" He demanded.

"Of course, I'm not some mere tinkerer," Francis rolled his eyes, "But whoever did this, is a master of memory manipulation. I haven't seen something like this in ages…"

With the gentle pressure of the fae's magic, the lock burst open. Warm fuzzy memories of his visits to the house instantly flooded his recollection. Most importantly of all, the address was imprinted in his mind in big black letters.

"Whoohoo!" He cheered, "Thanks to me, I've remembered the address. Let's go!"

The boy took to the sky with a flying leap.

"Peter, wait!" Francis cried after him.

It was a fruitless command and the fae knew it. Once something caught the boy's attention, there was little anyone could do to stop Peter.

"C'mon, Francis! Race you to Wendy's house!" Peter laughed airily as he shot out into the night.

There was little the fairy could do but follow after him. His tiny form looked like a bright light from afar—darting after the flying child. Francis could fly much swifter than Peter, but it was best to let the boy win.

Already, he was worried about a potential trap awaiting them—he didn't need one of Peter's temper tantrums on his hands as well. Gilbert would not be happy to find out someone dared tampering with his boy's memory. Francis himself was not happy that there was a being experienced enough that managed to get away with it.

If this being managed to blur Peter's memories, who was to say that this predator wasn't prepared enough for the spell's eventual unravel?

Meanwhile traps were the furthest thing from the boy's mind. He was aware of the danger—because adults were dangerous and if Wendy was being held captive by adults that meant he could be in danger as well. But it was because of the danger he had to seek out Wendy and bring her by to Neverland, to be under his care. It was only then he could be certain of her safety.

Peter whooped with glee when he made a swift turn around a corner, where the Darling's home would certainly be standing defiantly in modern London. Every time the boy visited London, the city became more and more unrecognizable with age. The fact that even cities grew older gave him a bad taste in his mouth. If the boy could, he'd wrap up the whole world and take it to Neverland.

The Darling's residence was one of the most well preserved houses of its era. While other houses of its Victorian age had crumbled away to nothingness or existed today in an ill-kept form, that was not the case with the Darling's. Perhaps the pixie dust that collected from Peter's visits kept the house from eroding. Or perhaps it was simply well-made by a good builder.

But as he whipped around the corner, the house was gone. Well, it wasn't as if there was an empty lot where no house stood. There was a house, but it was not the Darlings' house. It was a white modern-looking thing that proudly displayed the Darling's address.

"It's—it's gone!" Peter shouted in shock.

Francis, however, was not so easily convinced. Humans were very sentimental creatures that he doubted they would tear down such a sturdy home as the Darlings. Rather, there was something strange afoot. Fairies younger than Francis might have not given the building a second glance. But the fairy was wiser and more experienced than most.

"Peter, do you see how systematical this house appears to be compared to the other buildings?"

"Yes," Peter said dully, not understanding where Francis was going.

"Look how each brick is perfectly lined up—not a speck of a dirt. It's perfect…almost too perfect to be done by humans."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, that this spell is a reverse cloaking spell meant to trick beings of magical properties. I'm sure whoever cast this, is the same one who tampered with your memories."

"Well, can you fix it?" Peter demanded haughtily.

"What's the magic word?" The fairy teased lightheartedly.

The boy groaned loudly in annoyance.

"Can you _please_ fix it?"

Francis smiled amusedly, and then he yelled out an incantation. A hot searing white light flashed before Peter's eyes, blinding him momentarily. When his sight returned, he saw the two houses fading in and out of one another like an overlapping image. It is rather like the sensation when you cross your eyes together and see double. It hurt his eyes to focus so blatantly on the house.

Francis gave an apologetic look when he turned around at him in confusion.

"I can't lift the spell off without caster knowing about it. The best I can do is enhancing our visions."

Peter opened his mouth to complain about it when a familiar image caught his eye: the sight of an open bedroom window. Wendy's bedroom window, to be more exact.

"Look!" He cried, pointing upwards at the window. He flew upwards, ignoring Francis's indignant cries once more.

"I don't like this at all," Francis murmured to himself, upon seeing the window. There was a protective charm on the window, which reinforced it from intruders like themselves. However, because the window was open, the charm was useless against them.

Tainted memories, cloaked homes and protective charms spelled T-R-A-P to Francis.

To the boy who never grew up, it spelled A-D-V-E-N-T-U-R-E.

"Peter perhaps we should head back—" Francis's sentence cut off at the sight of a girl nestled on the window seat.

It was that exact moment where Francis knew he lost any chances of pulling Peter back early to Neverland. Because there the sleeping girl lay—her blonde hair the exact shade as Peter described.

Peter eagerly jumped through the window, unafraid of anything. The room was different than the last time he visited. The room clearly belonged to a single inhabitant, for there was only one bed in there. There was a desk that replaced the space Wendy's brothers' beds had once occupied—complete with a heavy, antique chair.

"Wendy, I'm here!" He boldly exclaimed, striking a dramatic pose as he floated above her.

The girl slowly stirred, blearily looking up at the unusual sight. Well, it was not odd in Neverland to see a floating boy—but it certainly was in this realm.

So you could imagine her initial surprise at seeing Peter. She didn't scream—well not quite yet. You see, she was not fully awake. She was only half-awake, which meant her dreams were still fresh on her mind. When she saw Peter, she mistook him for a dream as well.

Naturally, her first words to Peter were, "Is this a dream?"

The boy laughed gleefully, "Only if you want it to be, Wendy!"

"O-okay," She said, to polite to object. Though if she knew Peter better, then she'd be aware that manners had no effect on the boy.

Something small flew pass the girl, leaving shimmering dust in its wake. It was only Francis, but to her eyes he looked rather like a bright bulb from faraway. He was angrily chattering in the fae's language—which sounds like bells to an average human's ears.

Peter, who was not an average child after all, understood Francis's words perfectly. Though he rather wished he didn't. The boy groaned as he rolled his eyes at Francis's rant.

"What is that?"

"Hmm?" Peter glanced down at Wendy—or rather the girl-we-can-only-assume-to-be-Wendy, "Oh! You mean Francis!"

The boy roughly grabbed Francis as if he was a toy—who shrieked angrily in response. He then floated down to sit next to Wendy, as Francis wiggled in his grasp.

"This is Francis, he's a fae like, like—" The boy paused, his face scrunched up in thought, "…Stinkerbell? No, that's not right…well I'm sure it's not important, anyways! Say hello to Wendy, Francis!"

"Bonjour Wendy." The fae spoke stiffly.

Wendy stared at the fairy in awe. He looked almost like a tiny man—why he could easily live in her dollhouse! But as much as he looked like a miniature human—he looked very different as well. The most obvious being of course was the pair of silver wings attached to his back. But his face was too long and his ears were too pointy to belong to a human. The longer she stared at him, the more she felt a strange feeling swell up around her. The strange feeling, that Wendy had no words for, was magic.

The girl couldn't fully comprehend the fact that there was a fairy in her bedroom. She had so many questions to answers that she likely not understand.

For example, the next words out of her mouth was, "Why do you have a French accent?"

It was perhaps an unimportant question. The existence of fairies was a such mind blowing discovery that one might think the fact that Francis had a French accent was beside the point. But often times humans focus on the irrelevant details in the face of absurdity. Even in supposed dreams.

"Baby's first laugh, don't ya know that fairies—"

"It's besides the point!" Francis hastily interrupted, "Peter, we are on a timetable here—"

"A table made out of TIME? Where?!" Peter searched the room for it.

"It's an expression." Francis sighed, "What I mean Peter is that we only have a few hours until the sun comes up."

"What happens when the sun comes up?" Poor Wendy asked, growing more confused by the second.

"I, uh, I'll turn into stone!" Peter loudly declared.

"Really?" Wendy asked. "But, shh, not so loud," Wendy placed a finger on her lips; the universal symbol for silence, "My brother might hear you!"

"Your brother?" The boy asked, "You mean he's not out partying?"

"Well, no...he doesn't really like parties. Even if he did, he wouldn't leave me alone by myself."

The boy, who had been all laughter and cheer a few moments ago, grew very still. His rosy cheeks paled dramatically as he stood there as his nails slowly dug into his palms. A northern breeze drifted into the window and Wendy shivered.

"It's so much worser than I thought, Francis," The boy finally spoke, "He's keeping her under lock and key!"

"Now Peter, I'm sure it isn't as bad as you think it is—Wendy are you treated well by your brother?"

"Well, yes. He's very protective of me—but I know it's only because he cares about me a lot."

Peter gasped, "Did you hear that Francis? Wendy's been brainwashed by that—that _adult_!"

You may not think anything of it by Peter calling Wendy's brother exactly what he is—an adult. But in Neverland amongst the lost boys, calling someone an adult was an insult. It is one of the closet words they have to swear words. Seeing as the latter is adult in nature, the boys wouldn't be caught dead using them. Especially Peter.

Wendy was more offended at the idea of her brother brainwashing her than Peter calling him an adult.

"He-he wouldn't do that! He couldn't do that—because you can't brainwash someone!" She cried out indignantly.

"That's just what he wants you to think," Peter said as he picked up the chair from Wendy's desk.

He carried the chair across his shoulders as if weighed as much as a bag of feathers. Wendy softly gasped at the spectacle—for even her brother struggled to move the chair. She watched in horrified awe as he carefully placed the chair against the doorknob—making difficult for infiltrators to enter the room.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Why, I'm barricading the room," Peter stated simply, "I'm not going to lose you to grown-ups. Not this time."

The boy grinned—but it wasn't a genuine smile. It wasn't the one you'd give at the sound of an ice cream truck passing by. It was the devious kind that little boys gave when they stomped on bugs.

"C'mon Wendy, c'mon!" He tugged on her arm, "We have to fly away to Neverland!"

"Neverland?" The girl squeaked uncertainly.

Though she'd had never heard of the place before—the name felt familiar on her lips. As though she might have heard of it once upon a dream.

Francis observed the girl carefully, from head to toe. He looked at her heart most notably, because that is where the most innermost feelings and desires lay. In the deepest most cavern of the heart, there lay a small desire that was held secret even to the young girl. The desire to stay innocent and naïve forever.

Of course her mind had quite a few things to say about that. Minds were always full of logical reasoning and factual information. Though even important items such as that was easily lost in a child's mind map. Normal human doctors would have a hard time tracking it down; but then, Francis was not human. He sought it out easily and saw the mind was against the idea of Neverland ever becoming a reality.

However, Peter was very set on taking the girl to Neverland and there was little Francis could do to stop him. The best the fairy could hope for was a safe trip to Neverland—which he was determined to succeed at.

"Peter, aren't you forgetting something?" Francis asked.

"Hmm?" The boy cocked his head to the side as his hands rested on his hips.

"I swear, mon cher, you'd lose your head if it was attached to your body," The fae muttered before he took off in the air.

He flew a spiral around Peter, leaving shining dust in his wake. He then rested on Peter's shoulder, looking expectedly at the boy.

"Oh, of course. I knew that!" The boy declared, making the connection to Francis's nonverbal cue.

The boy snatched Francis and shook him violently over Wendy like a salt shaker. Wendy didn't know bells could sound angry until she heard Francis ringing out curses at Peter.

"Alright _now_ we can go to Neverland!" Peter exclaimed as he let go of Francis.

The fae moved several feet away from Peter's reach, warily watching the boy. He was not enthused to be grasped by the boy like an inanimate toy for a third time in a row.

Meanwhile the girl marveled at the glittering gold that shimmered all around her. She felt the same strange feeling as she did when she looked at Francis. Except this time, it felt almost comforting as it wrapped around her.

Peter only wasted a few seconds allowing the girl to be amazed. After all, he had to let his audience a few moments to be over swept with joy at his actions. But after just a few seconds, it grew very boring just watching her.

"Let's go, let's go!" He yelled out, forgetting his indoor voice. Though he was such a wild boy that I doubt he ever had an indoor voice in the first place.

He grasped Wendy's hand tightly as he tried leading her towards the open window. We say 'tried', because he had expected her to jump out into the night and fly right by his side. He had not expected her to resist his grip.

Even in what she perceived was a dream, the girl feared the window. She barely registered what Francis was—not alone that pixie dust would make her fly. It was a very long drop to the ground from the second story window. The moment she saw the drop, she pulled back.

Although Peter's strength was impressive for a boy, he was not prepared for Wendy's reluctance. So when she pulled back, he let go, watching her fall off the window seat in puzzled bewilderment.

Wendy hit the wooden floor with a loud thud. There was a moment of stifled silence as Francis and Peter looked at one another, shocked.

The silence didn't last long. For then afterwards, Wendy let out a bloodcurdling scream. Well, if her older brother hadn't heard Peter's excited shouts earlier, he certainly heard Wendy.

She screamed because she realized this was not a strange dream. A dream where strange boys with fairies made house calls and talked of Neverland. For if it was a dream, she would've not felt the pounding ache of pain pulsing through her body.

"Wendy, calm down—"

"Y-you!" Her voice contained a touch of wild terror, "Wh-who are you? What do you want with me?"

Peter started to respond when he heard the loud thuds from outside the bedroom door. Wendy's brother had indeed heard the scream and was rushing up the stairs of the house. He was calling her name as well—repeatedly.

"Va—" The girl squirmed as Peter covered her mouth with his hand.

"Francis, do-do something!" He said, as he held onto Wendy.

He couldn't let Wendy run straight into her captor's arms. It wouldn't be very heroic of Peter to do so. He was here to save Wendy, even though she couldn't yet see what he attempting to accomplish. She'd understand, Peter knew she would.

"I don't think it's a very safe—"

The doorknob rattled but the chair held firm as it refused to budge from its position. Although the chair was well wedged into the doorknob, Peter had a sinking feeling it wouldn't last long.

"Francis, _please_!" Peter panicked, as he held on tighter to Wendy like a security blanket.

"Dormiaris!" The spell left Francis's mouth before he could comprehend what he had just done.

You see, the spell had been purely accidental. When fairies feel cornered, they instinctively push back with magic. Accidental or not, the spell still had its effects.

Shortly after Francis yelled, the girl fell instantly into a deep slumber. She rested peacefully against his shoulder, oblivious to the loud bangings against the door.

"Francis, that was—"

"Never mind!" The fairy hastily interrupted, "It's past time that we depart!"

This time, Peter agreed. The boy achieved his goal and it was time they hightailed it out of the old home.

Indeed if they lingered just a moment longer they would've been confronted by Wendy's brother. But then, there wouldn't be a story to tell if they had.

With one spectacular thump, the chair fell to floor as the door opened. But Wendy's brother was only met with the sight of an empty room filled with pixie dust and the echoing of Peter's triumphant laughter.

* * *

It was just before the breaking of another beautiful sunrise in Neverland when the three arrived at last. The journey to Neverland had been a rather humorous affair.

Peter was easily distracted when a new adventure popped up in the form of a feather in the wind or dolphins popping out of the waves.

You cannot blame him; it was a trait so entwined in his being as breathing is like to you. It is something that was so natural to him, that he often didn't realize when he acted on it. However, in his eagerness to pursue the adventure, he often dropped Wendy like dead weight.

Francis cried indignantly when this happened. He was not Gilbert, who'd laughed at Peter's antics. He knew that the girl could not survive such a fall like Peter could. Especially when she was unconscious!

"Peter, so help me, I will carry her with my magic if you refuse to do it properly." He finally snapped at the boy after the 11th time.

Peter scowled and suspiciously sounded like he was insulting the fairy under his breath but complied. Peter regarded himself as a hero in his mind, and heroes always carried the rescued, not the sidekicks.

The rest of their travel was uneventful. Francis was relived. Peter was disappointed.

Because uneventful means there was no excitement which meant it was very boring.

The wild creatures of Neverland were slowly stirring when they arrived at Peter's and the lost boy's secret hideout.

Nanook, the boys' pet polar bear, gave them a wary glare as they entered. The creature may treat the boys as kindred but there was still a touch of wildness in him.

The hide-out was unusually quiet, as its main occupants were still asleep. The lost boys were scattered around the hide-out in seemingly odd sleeping arrangements.

Peter was vibrating with excitement. He couldn't wait to wake up his comrades and tell them the good news. But as he readied himself to give out his best rooster crow impression—a lofty voice burst forth into singing.

The song was an old fae song, a language that was unintelligible to human ears. It had a sad, haunting melody, which sounded almost wistful. It might have been very beautiful—if wasn't sung by a particular fairy.

Some people suppose that because fairies tended to be very beautiful creatures, then they must have a very beautiful voice. These people are the types that have never interacted with fairies. Because if they had heard the screeching, drunken sound like Peter did, they'd quickly change their mind.

At this point, Francis was very exhausted in both terms of magic use and physically. He'd chased Peter like a parent after a distracted toddler from the human world to Neverland. Chasing toddlers would wear out almost anyone—especially when said toddler is a giant compared to Francis's size. He kept both Peter and his Wendy out of harm's way far too many times to count. He was very much done.

"Gilbert!" He shouted.

Quickly the wretched screeching stopped as the other fairy emerged from the little apartment hidden behind a leaf. He was rather tipsy, his wings sloppily beating to keep him in the air. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of Wendy.

"Mein gott! Not another one!" He exclaimed,

"Wendy was in trouble and I had to rescue her!" Peter exclaimed.

"Peter, do you remember what we said last time?"

"I do remember, she did come willingly."

Well, as willingly as an unconscious person could be. She didn't say no to going to Neverland—which counted as a yes in Peter's book.

Gilbert let out a loud, weary sigh as his shoulders sagged in defeat.

"As long as you don't put her in harm's way I suppose it's alright," Gilbert shook his head as Peter let out a loud whoop.

"She's in a sleeping spell." Francis said offhandedly.

"What?!" Gilbert looked at his friend in shock. "I thought she came willingly!"

Francis gave a sideways look.

"Francis?"

"It was her heart's desire." Francis murmured.

"Heart's desire means almost nothing and you know it—"

"Look, I don't like it as well Gilbert. Something strange is afoot. But I have been searching for him all day, Gilbert—I am in desperate need for beauty sleep. You and I along with Antonio need to discuss it but for now, what's done is done." Francis sighed, before he departed towards pixie hollow.

Gilbert turned his attention towards Peter, who seemed to have ignored the fairies conversation. His red eyes—which shared a haunting familiarity with the fairy's—was focused on Wendy.

Peter treated the girl as if she was a plaything by the way he held her tightly and spoke of potential adventures.

"I don't think you ever been to see the old woman who lives in the hut before. She's really nice, and gives me candy sometimes! I'm sure she'd give you candy too." Peter beamed excitedly at the prospect, "In fact, we could make a visit—"

"Let's not go over there right now," Gilbert hastily cut in, "Wendy needs her rest, she doesn't run on endless energy like you do."

Peter grumbled as he followed Gilbert's instructions by laying her down in one of the cots.

"Why not now?"

"She's still under Francis's sleeping spell, kid."

"Can't you wake her up?" Peter frowned.

"Nah. Entrancement is not my area of specialty—I might end up killing her if I tried."

"But you might not," Peter argued.

"Look, if she's dead then you can't play with her and that would not be very awesome, would it?" Gilbert huffed before disappearing back in his apartment.

Peter reluctantly nodded, seeing the logic in Gilbert's words. He knew the fairy was right—he once tried playing with corpses before. It was not a very pleasant experience. They laid there stiff with weird expressions and smelled funny. The worst of all was that they couldn't laugh at his jokes or play catch.

If Wendy was dead, then she couldn't play any of his games with him or be his mother. Then he'd feel insulted. Because she had the nerve to die even before any of the fun began.

The boy didn't have a very firm grasp on death.

What he gathered was: when people died, they couldn't play any more games. That made Peter angry, because he liked people playing with him. If they were dead, they couldn't. He didn't understood why people died. It made him feel…weird just thinking about it. Thus he tended to not dwell on it much because of how it made him feel. Not when new adventures would beckon him on. Yes; dead people were quite easy to forget.

Peter sat next to Wendy's bed for a short while. He chattered to Wendy about all that happened since her visit. He couldn't remember everything, so he just told her the things he thought she'd enjoy. Like how the lost boys took Nanook in or how the fairies had a pretty festival and invited him to attend. But that grew boring after a few minutes. It was very hard for him to keep a conversation up without awed remarks from his audience.

He had started out sitting with his back straight and his hands pressed firmly at the sides of the chair. But like all boys, he found it hard to sit still. First, he began to slouch down in his chair. Then, he began fidgeting.

The fact of the matter was this: Peter had the attention span the size of a monkey's. Like monkeys, he was easily distractible and too mischievous for his own good. Watching someone sleep was not fun. Scaring the birds who were singing outside the hideout was much fun.

However he didn't like leaving Wendy unattended, no matter how boring the task was. No, this was a task for sidekicks. The only problem was that his sidekicks were sleeping on a job. Peter felt that was very inconsiderate of them. But he excused their negligence, as not anyone could be as great as he.

The boys sprang to life like wound-up toys at the sound of Peter's rooster crow. Some of them grumbled at being woken up suddenly, while others gave a gleeful shout. They all obediently formed a half circle around their fearless leader.

"Is everyone here?" Peter asked, once their clamor winded down.

The five boys looked at one another before nodding their heads.

"Good!" He smiled as he clasped his hands together, "Now I got a great surprise for you boys!"

"What is it?"

"Is it a puppy?"

"Did you throw Hook's other hand to the crocodile?"

"No, it's something even better!" Peter could hardly contain his excitement, "Wendy's back, and she's gonna be our mother again!"

The lost boys stared back at him varying degrees of confusion, horror and disgust. All, that is, except for Peter's right-hand boy. He had an icy façade of indifference on his face.

"What's wrong?" Peter cocked his head, "Do you not like the idea?"

"Oh no, Peter!" One of them piped up, "We're just so happy, we—we didn't know what to say!"

As the others followed suit with similar comments, Peter's temper was smoothened by them.

"Well I'm glad that you boys like the idea," Peter said, "Now that's settled, I need to get going."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going on a scouting mission—you boys stay here and guard Wendy from any pirates," Peter popped his head back into the hideout, "You got that, Matt?"

The mentioned boy nodded his head stiffly.

"Good!" Peter let out a wide grin before leaving once more.

Several moments later, the boys heard a loud "CA-CAW!" and the fluttering wings of spooked birds.

The boys drifted towards Peter's bed, where Wendy laid in a peaceful slumber.

"Well this sucks," One of the boys grumbled, "Barely seen him in over a week and he's off having adventures without us."

"She looks really pretty," A second boy noted happily, "Do you think all girls look as pretty as her?"

"Do you think all girls are as troublesome as her?" The first one sneered before being sharply elbowed by Matt.

"I want to see her," was the only explanation he gave to the questioning glare of the other. The boy scowled but stepped back, allowing Matt to get a better view of the girl.

She reminded Matt of a porcelain doll—with her fine blond hair and pale complexion. The girl had a small stature, encased in a green nightgown two sizes too large. Matt thought that she looked fragile as a porcelain doll as well. Fragile things had a tendency to be broken in Neverland.

"What do we do with her?" One of the others spoke up, glancing hesitantly at Matt.

The lost boys knew about as much as Peter did when it came to girls. This is to say, they knew almost nothing about girls. They have heard stories from Peter from them. But reality and Peter's stories sometimes varied very different from one another.

"I suppose we'll just keep watch over her until Peter returns," Matt proposed finally.

"Keep watch?" One boy scowled, "But that's boring!"

"Do you have a better idea—"

"Guys!" A redhead boy shouted, "she's waking up!"

"Hey let me see—"

"No I want to see first—"

The boys nearly trampled over themselves as they crowded the bed. The girl's eyes snapped open to face the rather intimidating stares of the boys.

"Welcome to Neverland!" One of them piped up merrily.

What the girl did next shocked them.

She screamed at the sight six young boys peering around her. It was such a loud, shrilling sound that all the boys clutched their ears in pain.

I believe we cannot blame her for such a scream, for it was simply a natural reaction. You too would scream in fright if six strange boys were crowding your vision.

The reason for her fright was simple. The girl who greatly resembled Wendy, was not Wendy.


End file.
